


A Night

by AnnieMar



Category: The Alienist (TV), The Alienist - Caleb Carr
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Smuff, like serious fluffy fluffballs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-24
Updated: 2018-07-13
Packaged: 2019-04-05 12:25:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,131
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14044230
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnnieMar/pseuds/AnnieMar
Summary: Mary and Laszlo's night together from her perspective.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [livebynight](https://archiveofourown.org/users/livebynight/gifts).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ask and ye shall receive, Cap! ;-)
> 
> This definitely takes place within the world of the show but elements of the book are there as I have read it, most notably in the first chapter the mention of Mary being able to say a few words and a bit of her and Laszlo's past. I don't see it as spoilery, just a bit more expansion on their relationship.

**~~::::::...::::::~~**

* * *

No one loved him as she did. There were those devoted to Laszlo, but she loved him. It was not because of his intellect or his social standing, not because of his many degrees or his wealth. It was because of how much he tried … _tried so hard_ to understand. _Everything_. Every tiny little thing ... even her. She loved how he made her feel as if she were a part of something, not quite a family but also not far off from one. Everyone in the house chose to be there, they chose to stay, because of him. He'd actually cared to understand them, when the rest of the world would have gladly swept them under the rug. 

On that night a barrier had been broken, as he'd revealed feelings she thought he might have been holding in for a long awhile, but could never be sure of. He'd always reign himself in, never letting himself fall off the precipice and admit what was bubbling beneath the surface. But Mary was finally able to run her fingers through his beard and in his hair, to hold him to her as something so precious and dear. To gently kiss his head and breath him in. To finally cherish and care for him like he deserved. She smiled against him as she heard him give a relieved sigh, as if he'd been holding his breath for far too long. She felt his shoulders begin to relax, no longer bracing himself for rejection, as if such a thing were possible.

Every move, every touch was slow and gentle. It was like he was afraid of a spell being broken, though she was fully aware he didn't believe in such things. She knew his mind had been in very far off places as of late, even more far off and much darker than usual, and that those who did not understand had been chipping away at him, making him doubt himself. Laszlo was confident in his ideas and ever the teacher to most people, even when they did not wish to be instructed, and yet there were a few who could bring out the uncertainty in him. They knew exactly what to say, how to make it sting. He'd then retreat into himself, silent for hours or days while he contemplated. Usually he arose strong from such trances, but lately it only brought about more frustration and outbursts, until he'd finally been carrying himself around like a wounded boy, braced for more strikes. 

She was frightened that he’d been convinced to let her go, as if she’d ever choose to leave him and live on her own. But perhaps he’d needed to offer her freedom to understand that everything she did for him was by choice. She cared for him willingly. Happily.

She had never grasped true freedom until he’d begun to ask her questions so long ago. Questions she could answer with a nod or a shake of her head, which at times had made some magic happen and her brain allowed her to speak a few words here and there. Of course, he wouldn't have seen it as magic, but she did. He was the first to realize she had thoughts and feelings just like anyone else, could understand every bit of what was going on around her, could have whole conversations in her head, but just had trouble speaking the words. He was the first to look at her as someone with intelligence, instead of just assuming she was an imbecile. He'd cared enough to try. It was then that the world started to hold color, instead of swimming through only black and white. 

He was her freedom and she so longed to be his in turn. He didn't have to be anything other than what he was. He didn't have to try with her. She already understood. 

His familiar scent of tobacco and Guerlain had never been so potent as she held him close. As he began to rise from his chair at the dinner table, she worried for a moment that he would put distance between them, or that he would start speaking in an effort to talk themselves out of what was happening. In that moment she did not need him to speak or even to ask questions, she only needed him to feel and to let go. Her fears then vanished when nothing came out of his mouth at all, save for his shaky breath, revealing his arousal. He stood, his tallness giving her comfort and making her feel safe, and he slowly bent to kiss her.

Mary kept her eyes open as long as possible, in order to remember each second of being so near to him, and gingerly touched her fingertips to his jaw, as he gently pressed his lips to hers. The world fell silent save for their breathing, and it all became a hazy dream, for she’d fantasized about the moment countless times, at all hours of the day and night, and none of it could have ever come close. 

He broke the kiss and straightened slightly. “I don’t know why I haven’t thought to do that before,” he whispered, his lips still a hair's breadth from hers. 

She looked up at him and gave a shy laugh, as only moments earlier, he’d said the same thing regarding dining with him. 

His eyes searched her face as he grinned. “Yes, I realize that I am repeating myself, but the sentiment stands,” he said, reading her mind.

Mary stood on her tiptoes to kiss him again and this time they fell into a natural embrace, not nearly as tentative as before, wrapping their arms around each other, their attentions growing much more heated and frantic. Soon her knees were buckling and she found herself backed up against the dining table. Her arms reached back trying to find balance and ended up knocking a candlestick over. Laszlo instantly let go of her and swiftly righted it before there was a chance for the tablecloth to set alight.

He stood back and ran a hand through his hair, giving a nod. “I apologize, Mary, it seems as though I am not very good at this.”

She gave him what she hoped was a reassuring look while shaking her head, disagreeing with him. 

 _You are wonderful at this_ , she silently told him.

She turned slightly towards the doorway leading out of the dining room and reached out her hand, signaling that she wished for him to follow. He stood and stared at her for several moments, different emotions passing over his face. There was uncertainty, fear, and yet an intense desire, rendering his already dark eyes black. She hoped in the end that it would be the longing that would win out, for he did not need to control himself around her any longer. 

His long legs suddenly took two steps and he was standing right before her, taking her offered hand. He brought it to his lips and gently lay a kiss to her knuckles. He then opened his mouth to speak, but it took him a few tries to find his words. “I do not presume, but ... may I … may I take you upstairs, Mary?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

She instantly nodded yes, her eyes undoubtedly as dark as his were and again, he seemed to relax, his shoulders releasing a tension she hadn’t even realized was there. Laszlo then led her out of the dining room and into the foyer, until they were standing at the bottom of the staircase. Oh, how she’d longed to be led up by a man she loved, each step building to the moment when they’d find themselves alone, each stair a promise, an intention, to spend a night in each other’s arms, closing their door to the rest of the house and the outside world.

He held her hand the whole way, with Laszlo leading while Mary stared at the expanse of his back and shoulders, hoping they would soon be unclothed and above her, rising and falling. She could tell he was trying his best to be quiet, but Stevie was in the stables and Cyrus had long since retired for the evening, no doubt asleep. And hopefully the evils of the city would stay silent and satisfied for now, leaving Laszlo's colleagues to their own devices. This night was hers. 

At the top of the stairs they did not pause, with Laszlo only pulling her along more quickly. They walked through the hallway she'd been down hundreds of times and yet it felt entirely foreign to her, everything cast in a new wondrous glow. But once they entered the master bedroom and the door had been shut and locked, the air seemed to change as the moment grew. They had entered this space with a purpose and there was no denying it, but he could not seem to find a way to just let it happen, the wheels in his mind always turning. He walked to his bureau and began to take off his cufflinks, his back turned.

“There is the screen just over there,” he said softly, “if you wish to …”

Mary was confused at first but then realized he was trying to appear ever the gentleman, offering to let her undress in private, and it was exactly what she didn’t want. She wanted him to witness everything, just as she wanted to see all of him, open and real, not hiding behind screens and under covers, as if it would make the act more civilized or palatable. She wanted anything but civilized. She wanted it all, raw, passionate, consuming _everything_.

She walked right up to him and pulled him to face her. She saw that his visage held the same fear and vulnerability it possessed the day he’d gotten ink on his cuff and she’d offered to wash his shirt. The bare skin of his chest had been just inches from her fingertips, but then he'd been whisked away. On this day she'd be damned if she'd let them be interrupted, as she didn't care if the world itself was ending just outside ... tonight he was _hers_. She shook her head and put her hands on his chest, sliding her fingers along his waistcoat until they found the buttons. He took a visible deep breath as he stood and let her begin to undress him, pushing the fabric off his shoulders.

They took their time, boots coming off, his pocket watch deposited on the table, all with their eyes on each other, until he was only in his shirtsleeves and trousers, his suspenders pushed down his arms. When it came to her, she had to do most of the work, as he couldn’t deftly handle the many buttons and ties of a woman’s attire. With each passing second, her clothing became more loose as her fingertips expertly did their work. It gave her something to focus on while he stood and stared at her, otherwise she might have grown faint from the desire that was threatening to swallow her whole. When she slid out of her dress he finally put his hand on her, unable to stay the spectator, and lowered his mouth to her neck, nuzzling at her ear. It made it very hard to concentrate as she fumbled with her corset, especially with his fingers brushing her hip, and his unsteady breath at her cheek. When she was down to her chemise and bloomers, he assuredly left his gentlemanly intentions in the past exactly where she wanted them. His breathing grew very heavy as his left hand searched her belly, her arms, and finally her breast, making her moan unexpectedly. He grew bolder, her responsiveness giving him confidence as instinct took over, and he began to seek her bare skin, inching her chemise up past her navel. 

He kissed her then for the first time since entering the room, and it grew much deeper as she opened her mouth to him and he slid his tongue along hers. He began to walk her to his four-poster bed and her knees buckled as the backs of them hit the edge. She found herself sitting before him and thought to reach up and take the pins out of her hair as he stared down at her, his eyes more wild than she’d ever seen them. She’d dreamed of this moment, to be invited into this room as a lover.

He reached out his hand to touch a lock of her dark hair, feeling it between his fingers. “Mary,” he whispered, “I do not wish to hurt you.”

She smiled up at him through her lashes, while gently shaking her head.

_You won’t hurt me. You wouldn’t ever hurt me._

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One more to go. I've never been a "fade to black" kinda girl ;-)


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The night happens. FINALLY.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So YAY The Alienist was nominated for an emmy. In celebration I thought I'd just go ahead and post the damn thing. 
> 
> Sorry this chapter is so late but it was such a hard thing to write. I normally write things that are a bit more uh ... not so innocent? And Mary and Laszlo's relationship just seemed so pure, like they'd never been in love before. I did a bunch of research as far as these things go in the Gilded Age (mainly to procrastinate), and watched a bunch of stuff like interviews, as one does when they're obsessed with a show, and Daniel Bruhl said he played the role as if Kriezler had no experience with women, so all his intellect went out the door. Around Mary, he was like a teenager. 
> 
> And man, I had no idea what to do with that. Both Kreizler and Mary are hard to write. Not one, but two pure and innocent souls when it came to love? 
> 
> Damn. 
> 
> I've never written anything so fluffy sweet and innocent ;-)

 

**~~::::::...::::::~~**

When he’d asked her to dine with him her heart had skipped a beat. She’d served him countless times before and wondered why he’d chosen to do such a thing on that particular night. A million things ran through her mind, though would not ultimately land on the conclusion that he was ready to reveal his feelings to her. She’d been convinced it was probably loneliness, though his solitary dining never seemed to bother him before. There was the odd guest, mainly Mr. Moore, but it was usually just Laszlo at the head of a vast empty table with his gramophone and lately Verdi to keep him company. She’d also worried that perhaps he’d asked her to sit next to him so that he could talk to her further about being on her own, which if that would have been the case, she was ready to take her extra set of china right back into the kitchen and let him seek his dessert himself, for she would have refused to serve it to him.

But when he’d tried to explain Verdi's Aida to her, she knew he’d been nervous, and relieved that she’d chosen to share a meal with him. He had feared that she’d simply walked out of the room after his request. And of course she knew all the musical pieces he listened to, he was well aware of it, but sometimes his need to instruct made him feel at ease. And then when he touched his hand to hers, Mary had finally let herself acknowledge it was real this time, and not merely a dream.

He'd been rather awkward about it though pure, and she understood why he'd never thought to ask her to dine with him before, as he'd pondered earlier. Laszlo was certainly an expert in his field, but not when it came to women. He was a novice and was quite uncomfortable being one in any capacity. Mary could hardly understand why, given how handsome and intelligent he was, and not to mention wealthy. Money mattered very little to her, but she knew there was no shortage of beautiful and vapid fortune-hunting shrews out there to try and turn his head, and yet it was like they were practically invisible to him. He never entertained them in public or in private, for she certainly would have noticed the remnants of their rouge or perfume on his clothes, and there was none.

Miss Howard of course had been different, as she was a woman of means and ideas of her own, which she could freely share with the Doctor. It had frightened her, as Mary could never be quite so free ... it would always take time and patience for her to get her ideas across, but it seemed as if she could put her fears to rest for now. Laszlo viewed Sarah as a colleague. It was Mr. Moore who looked upon Miss Howard with love. Mary had learned that much from their daytime outing to see Mr. Edison's vitascope, it was painfully obvious without him even having to say a word on the subject.

John's plan had worked that day, if not for him, then certainly for her. Mary might not have been able to speak as she wished to, but her lack of voice had made her an expert reader of faces and expressions, and the look of jealousy Laszlo had as she'd walked in the house with his best friend, had given her hope that all was not lost to Miss Howard. 

And now in this moment she was sitting on the edge of his bed, with him standing before her, vulnerable, unsure, and not wanting to hurt her. If it was virginity he fretted over, then just like his explaining Verdi to her, he knew better. He knew exactly why she’d been driven to commit murder years before, just as she knew why Laszlo needed Cyrus to be his right hand at the piano … _fathers_.

“I do not wish to hurt you,” he whispered.

She gave him a soft smile and gently shook her head. “ _Impossible_ ,” she signed.

He took a deep breath, his dark eyes searching over her nearly undressed frame. “I do not wish to disappoint you,” he confessed, a little louder.

Mary leaned forward a bit and repeated her gesture. “ _Impossible_.”

He gave the barest of nods and the look he then gave her was finite, as if he could think of no more obstacles between them. She slowly reached her hand out to the hem of his shirt and lifted it up. He helped her by reaching back to pull it over his head, and giving her a sense that they had been here before. She did not take the garment from him this time however, and let it fall to the floor.

He stood before her bare-chested and as much as she would have loved to stare at the perfect masculine form in front of her cast in lamplight, she knew that it was only a matter of time before he tried to angle himself so that his right arm was not as apparent. Before he had the chance to think too much she lifted her chemise over her head and threw it among the growing pile of clothes next to the bed.

It was her turn now to look up at him in apprehension and uncertainty, for she was now naked from the waist up, and was compelled to turn her eyes to the floor. Her decision to distract Laszlo now put the spotlight all on her, one she didn’t think through, for she realized that while she certainly wasn’t ignorant regarding sex, she’d never actually appeared naked to a man she loved. In that way, her innocence had remained intact.

She sensed his hand reach out and his fingers found her chin. “Look at me,” he gently commanded, and she instantly obeyed.

He stepped up to the edge of the bed, his skin so close to hers she could practically feel its warmth. “You are so beautiful, Mary,” he said, his eyes lust-addled and heavy-lidded. With his look of admiration, some of her confidence returned, though she was sure her cheeks were blushing bright red.

_So are you._

He bent down and she thought he meant to kiss her but instead rested his cheek on hers as his arm came around her. She gave a long sigh as his skin touched hers and he fumbled with the button of her bloomers but she didn’t care, as he seemed to want to take her last bit of clothing off himself. When he finally was successful he gave a soft chuckle as if he were pleased with himself and began to tug the garment down. She helped him by using her arms to brace herself on the bed and lift her hips as he slowly slid the fabric down her thighs.

Every touch was now heightened, every brush of his fingertips along her bare legs like an electrical current, and she threw her head back to relish in it, her long dark hair falling down her back.

“Mary,” she heard him say, roughly.

“Hm?” She was barely able to lift her head and keep her eyes open in order to answer him.

She noticed his hand hesitating at the buttons of his trousers and she was compelled to watch. “If at any point ... you wish to stop—" 

She looked up, reached out her hand to put a finger to his lips, raised a brow, and shook her head once. She was appreciative, but was done listening to him talk, she only wanted him to _move_. 

Laszlo gave a chuckle and grabbed her hand, kissing her fingertip. "Very well then, no more talking." 

Mary nodded her head in agreement as she began to scoot back onto the bed. He fumbled with the rest of his clothes, shoving them down his legs while she tried to keep her eyes on his face. She'd never seen him completely naked, only seeing glimpses of flesh through cracked doors and darkness, as one naturally does while living in the same house ... but knowing that he was bare and inches from her was causing heat to bloom throughout her body. He slowly climbed onto the bed after her and began to carefully maneuver over her as she settled underneath him.

When he lowered himself, his skin on top of hers, she felt him hard, brushing her leg. The moment suddenly grew and it left her panting, knowing that his arousal was so very tangible and present. This wasn't a fantasy any longer, it was real. She moaned, instinctively spreading her thighs for him. She knew exactly what she wanted, had walked up those stairs with him fully understanding what was to happen, she was no fool, and there was no sense in being demure about it.

Still, the sensation of his cock being so warm and insistent, slipping between her legs, made her gasp, as if she couldn’t find enough air to breath. He kissed her then, passionately, perhaps in an effort to calm her, and groaned into her mouth as his hand searched for her breasts. He found that he couldn’t keep up the attention like he wanted and still support himself above her without suffocating her, so he broke their kiss in order to continue exploring her chest with his mouth. When his lips closed around a nipple she couldn’t help but cry out, her back arching, then suddenly threw her arm over her mouth in order to stifle any sound.

He quickly lifted his head and settled himself at her side, reached up and took her arm away from her face. He shook his head. “I want to hear everything," he said, just above a whisper. "The rest of the house be damned.”

She stared at him, shocked at his declaration, that he didn’t care if Steve or Cyrus heard, or even someone passing outside. He didn’t mind if people knew.

He must have read the questions on her face. “We will not be a secret, Mary. If you will have me." 

Her hands found his face, her nails skimming his beard and she nodded. “ _Yes_.”

The lamplight was low, but she saw Laszlo smile, a rare one that reached his eyes. He bent back down to kiss her, his hand now trailing down her belly and only stopping once they reached between her thighs. Her breathing grew heavier the further he got and she gave an inelegant whine when his fingertips finally ran along the slick flesh they sought. He hissed at finding her so ready for him, which made her realize that she also wanted to hear each and every sound from him as well.

When he glided over her, the small place she touched when she woke up in the middle of the night and could only think of him, it all became too much. He expertly circled around her, allowing just enough pressure for the pleasure to build, and was rendering her a mess, her back arching, her hips moving against him, searching for more.

He seemed content to let it build slowly and all the while watching her face with his head inclined, as if observing some experiment. His eyes were black and his breathing heavy, but she needed to see some more of that control break. She found herself tapping his shoulder, telling him she no longer wanted him at her side but on top of her. She weakly made a gesture with her hands and hoped that he’d understand.

“ _Now_.”

Laszlo obeyed, his hand moving from between her legs in order to support himself above her. When he was settled on top of her, she ran her hands down his shoulders and back like she’d fantasized about a hundred times and urged him on. He slowly began to move his hips against her, seeking her, and driving her to the brink of madness. She was almost ready to roll them over, take control, and sink down onto him herself, but then realized that as with many things, he was having trouble maneuvering one-handed.

Mary had never done such a thing, but instinct guided her as her hand left his lower back and slid around to the front of him. He groaned when she touched him, his body trembling above her, and she relished in it, his response to her. As soon as she guided him to her entrance he wasted no time, thrusting his hips forward, and began to push himself inside. He may have thought to be gentle at first, but as soon as he breached her, he gasped in her ear and gave a long groan as he slid in all the way. His first thrust had her crying out and he held himself still, overwhelming her, and feeling much too big at first. But when he set to moving within her, his muscles taught and straining to retain tenderness, she was able to adjust to him, each push reaching past pain and rendering a pleasure she never could have imagined ever existed. 

Once they found a rhythm, he stammered words in German and she wished she knew what they were, hopefully something unsavory and obscene. The first time didn’t take long but it didn’t need to. The way he held himself above her, supported mostly by one arm, had him thrusting against her in the perfect spot. He’d already made her climb half-way before, and now with him inside of her, he had her climaxing beneath him long before it usually took her to do it herself. He stared down for a moment in disbelief, perhaps shocked that he was able to give her such pleasure, but then it compelled him to lose whatever control he clung to, and he began to slam inside of her, each thrust coaxing sounds out of him that she cherished, until the last one, when he held himself inside her as he gave a gut-wrenching groan, like someone had ripped his heart out. She grinned thinking she wished to remember that particular sound for the rest of her life, of him falling to pieces above her, and her arms and legs wrapped around him as he collapsed on top of her, breathing as if he'd just ran for miles.

She wished she could tell him that he no longer had to worry, that he could add these activities to the long list of things he excelled at, but instead was content to take a deep breath and run her hands down his back, feeling him tremble, the perspiration on his warm skin. 

No need to let him get anymore arrogant than he already was, after all. 

* * *

**~~*...*~~**

The whole night he was insatiable, even though he was to be on an early train to Washington in the morning. He said he’d simply sleep on the way there, as John was usually never very interesting in the early hours.

He loved her hair down around her face, that much she learned, as he was always reaching out to touch it. Also her breasts, as she found his mouth and hand constantly seeking them out. During their second encounter, she thought to rock above him, so that he could let his hand wander where he wanted. It was also a joy she couldn’t imagine had existed, watching him come apart beneath her.

Between their pleasure and naked under the covers, he smiled and talked more freely than she’d ever witnessed, and it made her heart swell to know that she inspired such lightness in him.

She also found herself fascinated with him, having a man so near. She would run her hands down his chest, her fingernails scraping along the fine hair, breathing in the scent of his naked skin, somewhat familiar but also entirely new. Finally she closed her eyes, her head on his chest and his arm around her, lulled to sleep by the rise and fall of his breath.

After dawn and the very little rest they’d gotten, she began to slip out of the bed, in order to get breakfast in order. When her feet swung over the edge, his arm shot out from beneath the sheets and caught her hand.

“We have time,” he said grinning, one of those rare smiles, and pulled her back under.

* * *

**~~*...*~~**

Laszlo didn’t eat breakfast before leaving, he simply got ready for his trip and headed out. Mary said goodbye to him at the door in her best dress. For some reason, unknown to her, she had the oddest feeling and was overcome with emotion. She signed to him to take care, that she didn’t want anything to happen to him, that she didn’t want anyone to take him from her.

He wiped tears from her cheeks and kissed her one last time. “I will not leave you,” he said softly. “Not for long, anyway. It’s to be a short trip, and hopefully we can put an end to this case soon.”

She nodded and watched him go, only turning when he was out of sight.

Once back inside she prepared breakfast for the rest of the house. She set everything out, including the morning paper for Cyrus. Later, he and Stevie were looking at her as if she were daft and exchanging glances, but she didn’t care. She simply had to smell the freshly cut flowers she'd arranged, and gave a small laugh as she moved the candlestick from the dining table to the buffet.

Her perfect night had started when that imperfect moment happened, when she’d knocked it over while Laszlo was kissing her. She looked at herself in the mirror and wondered if perhaps her lips looked a little swollen.

  
_No matter_ , she thought with a smile as she whisked herself out of the room, and leaving Stevie and Cyrus to draw their own conclusions.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's a couple nods to the book for the book readers.
> 
> And so I have to share this ... during my research down Gilded Age rabbit holes, I found that doctors in Victorian times used to treat hysteria in women (brought on by those pesky traveling wombs), by masterbating them (or "pelvic massage"). When I read this I was like O.o
> 
> like ... 0________o
> 
> I had to find many sources because I was like NO WAY THIS IS TRUE. NO WAY. 
> 
> It's true. When the vibrator was invented doctors were relieved to have a mechanical way to treat hysteria in women. Like jfc. 
> 
> JFC. 
> 
> Anyway. I'm sure that Dr. Kriezler would have scoffed at the practice (or at least I hope he would) but would have definitely known about it and the technique, which is why someone as inexperienced as Laszlo would have known what to do. Okay, that's my fan wank. No pun intended. Thank you very much lol. 
> 
> On another note, I love this show, I hope it gets a season 2. And I love to talk about this show so if you want to hang, shoot me a comment or find me on Tumblr, I'm @anniemar over there too. And if you've read the books, omg, I really need someone to talk to about Angel of Darkness. Holy hell.


End file.
